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Electric fence helps keep Basil the beagle contained to his backyard

The beagle escaped his homeowners’ backyard frequently before he finally installed an electric fence.

After several failed fencing methods, Denis Grignon discovered installing an old-fashioned, low-voltage electric fence was the best way to keep his dog in the yard and out of harm's way. (DENIS GRIGNON PHOTO)

After several failed fencing methods, Denis Grignon discovered installing an old-fashioned, low-voltage electric fence was the best way to keep his dog Basil in the yard and out of harm's way. (DENIS GRIGNON PHOTO)

A beagle that had always managed, somehow, to breach the perimeter of our one-acre lot in our rural community. I’d spent countless hours adding wire and plastic webbing to approximately 150 metres of page wire and 100 metres of a newly-built cedar split-rail fence.

And I was sure — each of those umpteen times — that I’d finally plugged that hole or raised that height enough to discourage Basil’s best Steve McQueen impression. And each time, his was another Great Escape.

I had even considered those underground wireless, or so-called unseen fences, which use a custom collar to give the dog a light shock — often referred to as a “static correction” — when it nears the boundary. Their price was discouraging, but I was really dissuaded by what my niece, a professional dog trainer and kennel operator, warned me of. They weren’t necessarily full-proof, she said, particularly with two specific dog breeds: the husky and, yup, the beagle.

The beagle, she needlessly pointed out, is a slave to its nose and was known to blast past the near-invisible boundaries (marked only by short flags strategically placed along the perimeter) to chase a bird or squirrel. Or, in what could well be Basil’s case, a plastic bag floating in the air.

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I was at my wit’s end.

But as I stared at the send button, about to put Basil up for adoption on cyberspace (Family dog. Free. Only those with impenetrable fence inquire), I glanced out my window to my neighbour’s grazing cattle. And I wondered. Could an old-fashioned electric fence keep our beagle confined and safe?

My niece, loath to endorse anything built on negative reinforcement, especially a light electric pulse, reluctantly offered “. . . if you feel this is your last resort and it keeps him off your busy road . . .”

Jennifer Ackert was more approving. The electric fence she uses on her 100-acre property near Port Perry keeps her horses pastured on one side and her dogs running freely on the other. More new-age animal whisperer than old-school dog disciplinarian, she nevertheless sees the merits of a pretty elementary deterrent. “Yes, my dogs got zapped once or twice early on,” she admits. “And those were the only times. That’s all it took and they now they avoid (the fence) completely — even if I turn it off.”

Her dogs, it must be pointed out, are also calm, approachable and eager to play fetch — they just avoid the fence. I wanted that, too.

An online perusal of my municipality’s bylaws showed me I was fine, legally provided I wasn’t installing it around a pool. But, admittedly, that’s not the case in all cities, especially larger, urban centres, which are more restricting.

The financial investment was easy to swallow, especially since I didn’t have to install fence posts, my area was relatively small (compared to a pasture) and I was restricting a dog, not large livestock; so I only needed a very low-voltage unit to quickly deter him from attempting escape through the existing fence.

Initially, I considered a solar, battery-powered system, assuming I’d save money in the long run. But Jack Kyle, a grazing specialist with the Ontario Ministry of Agriculture, advised me otherwise. “If at all possible, go electric,” says Kyle. “They’re more reliable and the cost of the hydro you’ll use in a year won’t buy you the cheapest cup of coffee in the cheapest coffee shop in town.”

I found everything I needed at my local feed and farm supply store for less than $240 (there are more options on the Internet and hardware stores). I also went with basic aluminum wire as opposed to the more expensive, thicker coloured poly wire, which creates a more visual barrier. But my existing fence made that superfluous.

The installation wasn’t rocket science, but it’s important to understand that there is science involved here. The fence wire, fixed to posts using plastic insulators, is connected to one terminal on the unit. Another wire runs from the unit’s other terminal to a 3-foot iron rod that you pound into the earth. When you — or the animals — are standing on the earth and touch that fence wire you’re completing the loop of electricity and, hence, delivering the charge. (And what curious 10-year-old — usually boys, admittedly — visiting a farm hasn’t tested this science at least once?)

Simple enough, right? In principle, yes. There are, however, caveats. Snow and even frozen earth can act as an insulator between the animal’s feet and the charge. To get around this lack of proper grounding, Kyle offered this wisdom. “Run a separate wire from that iron (ground) rod close below the live one,” he suggests. When the animal comes into contact with both wires at the same tire, they’re completing the loop.

There is maintenance and monitoring. I have to keep the grass trimmed around the wire to prevent short circuits. A small hand-held voltage meter — about $40 — is used to test the wire on all four sides of my yard and helps me find such shorts, as it did early on when a section of wire was touching part of the page wire.

But the true litmus test, of course, was how Basil responded. I used many of the same training techniques suggested on those other electric dog fence systems, walking him around the perimeter, harping a loud “no” each time he approached it, and rewarding him when he avoided it.

And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t rattle me when he did get zapped. Thankfully, though, just like it did with Ackert’s dogs, only happened twice in those first few days of our new fortress. Today, he’s quite happy sniffing around our pond, rummaging through the compost and chasing our cats within his one-acre compound while avoiding the fence and exhibiting none of the cowering anxieties my niece suggested he might.

Finally . . . I had succeeded.

Basil Grignon is a 1-year-old beagle who lives — happily — in rural Ontario. His owner, Denis Grignon, is a writer and comedian, who has a whole new appreciation for Pavlov. Contact him (Denis, not Basil) at denisgrignon.com.

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